


just hold me

by paintedpolarbear



Series: prompt fics [1]
Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: M/M, Tumblr Prompt, warning for brief mention of adam's dad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-02
Updated: 2017-12-02
Packaged: 2019-03-31 14:03:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13976670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paintedpolarbear/pseuds/paintedpolarbear
Summary: ♧: One character playing with the other’s hair





	just hold me

**Author's Note:**

> so @moreraventhanothers never actually specified pynch in the prompt, that's just the kind of person i am

The screen door slams open with a _crack_ of metal on brick, and the front door follows a second later, making a sound like it’s been kicked viciously with a boot. Chainsaw flutters down from somewhere upstairs or wherever and lands on the floor only a couple feet away from the couch where Ronan is–or was, up until a few seconds ago–taking a nap.

“Kerah,” she croaks. He cracks one eye open to ensure that she doesn’t steal his shoelace.

“What.”

She clucks, croaks his name again and a new sound she’s started making that means _Adam_ (it’s mostly some kind of rattle-chirp that Ronan wouldn’t dream of trying to pronounce for fear of offending her by getting it hideously wrong) before waddling out of sight, entranced by the rustling sound of plastic bags in the front hall. Ronan heaves a put-upon sigh and sits up.

He hears, from the direction of the kitchen, Adam’s fatigued voice, “No, not now.” Again, more firmly. Then Chainsaw, indignant: “Kerah!”

“What! Jesus.” If she’s just tantrumming because her favorite person in the whole wide world left her line of sight for five seconds and now won’t pay attention to her…well, she’s a traitor devil bird anyway and has been ever since Adam moved in, so Ronan’s not too awfully sorry. To be honest, though, he really hadn’t expected to be having this fight with an adolescent corvid.

Time for yet another fabulous airing of Ronan Versus Chainsaw Super-Epic Love Showdown, Episode Whatever-The-Fuck: Who Loves Adam The Most?

(It’s definitely Ronan.)

The kitchen doesn’t at all look like he’d expected when he walks in. Chainsaw flutters from countertop to countertop and perches on every sink handle and towel rack en route, clearly upset but not really making too much noise about it. The grocery bags are piled in a corner next to the sink and the groceries are strewn out everywhere. There’s also a lot fewer of them than Ronan had expected.

Adam himself is the picture of agitation–panting like he ran the ten miles to the Barns instead of driving, slamming drawers, shoving food into the fridge haphazardly like it personally offended him on the drive over, his hair sticking up in all directions like he’s been running his hands through it for hours. One of the cupboard doors catches him in the shin and the jar in his hand tumbles to the floor, shatters loudly on the tile. Chainsaw shrieks. Adam stares in mute horror at the mess.

“Yeah, fuck those pickles,” Ronan says, a beat too late.

Adam’s head jerks up like he hadn’t even been aware of Ronan standing in the doorway. “I-I’m sorry,” he stammers, making abortive movements toward the paper towels. He looks a little frantic. “I didn’t mean to–” He shuts up when Ronan reaches out and wraps him in a crushing hug.

Ronan is _just_ so much taller than Adam that his chin slots perfectly over the top of Adam’s head, if he stretches, and if Adam tucks his head a little, which he does. Ronan’s got one arm firmly around his boyfriend’s waist and the other hand stroking along his sweat-dampened hairline, tucking a single lock behind his ear, over and over and over.

Adam draws a deep, shuddering breath and curls into Ronan’s chest. The kitchen is quiet for long minutes, the silence broken only by Adam’s ragged holding-back-tears breathing and Chainsaw rolling in the pile of plastic bags on the counter.

“You okay?” Ronan asks into Adam’s right temple. More silence. Then:

“I ran into my dad.”

And oh, thank God Chainsaw picks that moment to noisily flap over and perch on Ronan’s shoulder, because otherwise Adam would have heard Ronan’s sharp inhale and the rush of his blood turning to lava, seen his face twist in hot possessiveness. He clutches Adam to him, swaying, one hand secure around Adam’s shoulders and the other tangled in his hair. His arms a steel wall bristling with barbed wire and a bold _NO TRESPASSING_ sign hand-lettered in stark white. His mouth moving in silent prayer on Adam’s scalp.

Adam swallows hard. “I wasn’t expecting–I mean, he tried to _talk_ to me, like everything was normal. And….”

Ronan doesn’t say a word, doesn’t breathe. Adam scrubs his face into the front of Ronan’s tee between his hands and sucks in a steadying breath.

“I wasn’t really…you know. All the way there. Like….” He wiggles his fingers in the cage of his shoulders and arms, trying to gesticulate what he can’t find the words to explain.

“I just–I had to go. I was completely blank. All I could think driving home was, I can’t wreck Ronan’s car.” He sniffs a little laugh, one that’s not a response to anything really funny but a noise when the only other option is a sob and that’s not much of an option at all.

“I wouldn’t have given a shit about the _car_ ,” Ronan mumbles, too caught up in the word _home_ to further elaborate on the _thump_ of his stomach hollowing out at the frankly terrifying thought of Adam-in-a-wreck, beemer or no. He swallows the sudden lump in his throat; it’ll keep for another time.

“I thought I was okay,” Adam whispers, and Ronan feels like he’s been hit with a frying pan. “I haven’t even thought about them for weeks, I should be able to go to the _grocery store_ without–” His voice cracks horribly.

“Don’t,” Ronan says. “You’re doing fine, all right? Better than me, probably. I’d have beat the God out of that motherfucker without even thinking, gotten arrested again, and then you’d have to go around at your fancy college telling people your boyfriend’s in jail.”

Adam scoffs mildly (his mouth is turned up at the corner, though, Ronan can tell) and turns his head back to laying his right ear on the juncture of Ronan’s collar and neck, facing the kitchen. Chainsaw fusses a little with the hole in Ronan’s shirt under her talons, then makes a grab at Adam’s hand, holding on hard when he rears back in surprise. After a moment he relaxes, when he realizes she’s not biting, not really, and she fluffs her wings in triumph.

“Damn,” Ronan murmurs, brushing stray hairs off Adam’s forehead. “Little shit beat me to it.”

Adam makes a faint questioning noise. Ronan explains: “Ravens hold beaks to say ‘I love you.’ It’s like the bird equivalent of kissing, I guess. The ones that live in rehab centers and shit with humans tend go for the fingers.” At Adam’s continued skeptical gaze, Ronan goes on. “I was trying to figure out why she was suddenly biting me all the fucking time. Youtube is great.” He shrugs casually to disguise the taste of _I love you_ rolling off his tongue, the way he said it so easily, the way they’ve never said it before, not with those words.

( _You can stay if you want. I knew I could count on you. I’m so proud of you. I’m coming back, you know._ These have all been _I love you_ , too.)

Adam’s expression shifts to one of awe. His thumb closes against the bottom of Chainsaw’s beak, returning the gesture; she gurgles in happiness.

“Don’t,” Ronan repeats softly, more for his own benefit than Adam’s, reassuring himself that the crisis is past. His hands, restless and incessant, run through Adam’s hair, over and over and over. “You’re okay.” He repeats the mantra to himself, willing it. _You’re okay you’re okay you’re okay you’re okay you’re o_

Adam sighs and leans his head heavily into Ronan’s hands, closing his eyes, like a weight has fallen through him and he can barely hold himself up anymore, and his mouth barely moves when he says, voice low: “I love you, too.”

“Me?” Ronan gapes a little. “Or the chicken?”

His lips twist in a smile. “You, dumbass.”

Ronan can feel the bass notes of Adam’s fatigue trembling through his skin, all the way up his arms. He can feel his pulse skip along the beat of Adam’s voice ( _I love you, too_ ). He can also feel the softness of Adam’s hair–longer than usual, at least that Ronan’s ever seen–between his fingers.

“Time for a haircut?” he teases, tugging a curl straight.

“Growing it out.” The glimmering between Adam’s cracked eyelids is bright and shit-eating. “You love it.”

Ronan can’t help a grin. “Yeah,” he murmurs, holding Adam as close as he can, burying his nose in the scent, combing through the strands with his fingers, not wanting to let go. Never wanting to let go. “Yeah, I do.”


End file.
